


The Turn of the Century

by HannibabestheCannibabes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Historical References, M/M, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 13:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19358089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannibabestheCannibabes/pseuds/HannibabestheCannibabes
Summary: An angel and a demon walk into a bar...It's the end of the 14th Century and Aziraphale is all set for a quiet drink and some contemplation. Until he runs into an old friend...





	The Turn of the Century

The tavern was busy. Well, of course the tavern was busy. It was the turn of the century, every man and his dog wanted to be out celebrating. In fact, Aziraphale could have sworn he had seen some dogs sat lapping at tankards of ale that had been set on the floor for them, matching their owners with blurred eyes and slouched backs. But really, this pandemonium was unacceptable. What had been a quiet inn, frequented by only those craving the most common of ales or a honeyed mead and the pleasure that accompanies silence, was now rammed full of sweating odorous bodies (how did humanity honestly sweat so frequently?), all clamouring to be the first to the bar front, to slosh amberered drink down their shirts as they forced their way back through the crowds to their companions. What had been the promise of a single drink (or two) to see in the new year was now overcast with the threat of having to leave before the clock even struck midnight, else he end up caught in a fistfight with angry peasantry.

There was a dark corner at the back of the tavern in which Aziraphale managed to finally seat himself, mead in hand, with a huff on his usually cheered face. The tavern was only getting busier, if that was possible to believe, and incredibly beginning to smell far far worse…

‘Angel.’

He turned with a jump accompanied by a start, both enough to spill golden liquid onto the table, sticky already with the memory of drinks past. He felt he only looked more stunned as he realised with who he had sat himself, and he felt his cheeks flush pink.

‘Crowley, my dear. You gave me a fright.’ Indeed it was him, even with the withering candlelight and the mania around them, he recognised the demon, grinning at him with all of the elegance of a man (or a man-shaped being) who was on his second bottle of blood red wine. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Drinking, as I’m sure you can see. Same as you.’ He lowered his glasses (so absurdly out of place in such a setting, Aziraphale inwardly tutted) as he glanced at the drink in the angel’s hand. ‘Well, not quite the same as you. I prefer my drinks with more bite than yours.’

‘As you prefer most things. No, what are you doing here? Not this tavern per se, but…’

‘Oh, here here? I’m celebrating, quite clearly.’

‘Celebrating?’

‘The end of the fourteenth century. The end of the bloody boring fourteenth century.’ He stood up suddenly onto the table, holding his glass in the air, to address the tavern with a shout. ‘THE END OF THE BLOODY BORING TOSSING BASTARD FOURTEENTH CENTURY.’

Aziraphale ensured he was wearing his least impressed expression, ignoring the pink flush of his cheeks at such attention on his table, as Crowley sat back down, swigging hard. ‘You know most people here can’t even count to fourteen.’

‘I thought your lot were supposed to be the nice ones. That doesn’t seem very nice to say.’

‘Pointing out the truth doesn’t make me less nice.’ His attempts at a stern face were failing him, his curiosity far too distracting for moral righteousness. ‘What was so wrong with the fourteenth century, Crowley?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’re quick to dismiss it. What was the problem? I found it perfectly pleasant.’

‘Pleasant? You enjoyed those hundred years, did you? In a way that didn’t make you want to pluck out your own eyes in order to give yourself something to do?’ The demon stood up once more, smiling as he noted to widening of his companion’s eyes. ‘I’m getting more wine, angel, no need to worry. I need more wine for this.’

* * *

 

The fourteenth century did not re-occur in their conversation until three glasses later (a perfectly adequate way of measuring time) when Crowley suddenly threw up his hands in drunken exasperation. 

‘So the fourteenth century, what part did you exactly find so pleasant? What part kept your little angel-being ticking over so while I lay around in utter boredom? Come on, what was it?’

‘I quite enjoyed the weather.’

‘The weather? So the famines didn’t distract you?’

‘Famines? But surely you’d have enjoyed those?’

‘Famines might be good for business but Satan are they dull!’ He slumped back, throwing his arm over the chair until his hand rested mere inches from the angel’s ear. Both pretended not to notice. ‘Though if we’re speaking naturally, suppose I should congratulate your side on the Black Death. That really was a stroke of genius. Especially when you got all those men walking around whipping themselves. That’s something we can only get them doing in private.’

‘The Black Death? The disease that killed a third of Europe? My dear, that wasn’t my side. We assumed that was you.’

‘Oh.’ Crowley shrugged. ‘I might take the credit for that one then. Get myself a commendation.’

‘For killing a third of Europe?’

‘You’re right. I should get two for that.’ He slid back further on his chair, until his back was pressed against the wall. He flung one leg drunkenly across his companion’s lap, stretching long limbs in a way that didn’t quite bring Aziraphale as much comfort as the demon felt. ‘And one for the war with France.’

‘You started the war with France?’ Aziraphale asked, eyes wide, manicured fingers settling against the leg of his companion gently, as he leaned forward in shock. ‘But millions have died.’

‘Have they?’ His own surprise caused a frown on the angel’s face. ‘Fine, the humans started it. I couldn’t come up with such poor reasoning as they did. I’ll tell you what I am planning though. No matter when the war ends, I’m going to have it known as the Hundred Years War. It’ll drive future history teachers crazy.’

‘Long term planning.’

‘Long term planning indeed. It’s practically my middle name.’

* * *

 

Six glasses apiece and two further trips to the bar later, both angel and demon were no longer upset by the noise or the smell of the tavern. The stickiness of the table concerned them no more, nor did the almost clockwork barging by some passing member of the peasantry, with only a murmured apology deemed enough to satisfy such outrage. The two were sat closer together, Aziraphale somehow having inched his way along the shared bench, his hand having edged further up the demon’s leg, neither unwelcomed or disliked. As if to match, Crowley’s hand had found its way behind the angel’s neck, long fingers playing with softly spun curls, so white they seemed to illuminate his skin. 

‘As far as I can tell, the fourteenth century was horrific. Bloodshed and pestilence at every corner. I still cannot grasp what you found so boring.’

‘The fifteenth century will be better, that’s all. There’s a coup planned against the King for next month. Already more exciting. King Simon or Harry or Robert or something…’

‘King Richard?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one.’

‘I quite like him.’

‘Course you do, angel.’ Another long drink. ‘What were you doing for the last hundred years then?’

‘Oh, we’ve seen each other in that time. I’m sure I told you then.’

‘We certainly haven’t.’

‘We haven’t?’ He frowned, an expression almost cute on the face of one so unused to it. He broke into a small smile after seconds however. ‘You’ve been counting, though, my dear. Was the fourteenth century so boring due to my absence?’

‘What?’

‘Did you miss my company so much it ruined your last hundred years, Crowley?’

If he’d been expecting such a question to be met with a burst of demonic laughter and denial (which he was, as much as such a reaction may not have been pleasant, what more do you honestly expect from a demon?), he was surprised. For the demon seemed to hunch slightly as he answered, ‘yes.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, alright? Yes. I have spent the last hundred years bored out of my skull because I missed your company. What is honestly the point of such evil deeds if not to have you to bounce them off? To watch your little face fall every time I confess to a murder, or your tut of disapproval when I release a plague? Why start a war if not to watch you try to fix it?’

‘Well, I imagine because you’re a demon. It’s the job description.’

‘I didn’t think you’d understand.’ The serpent went to move his hand, to pull it back, but was met with the fierce grip instead of his companion, gazing at him with wide eyes and a sheepish smile.

‘You missed me, Crowley,’ he whispered, as the smile turned into a beam. ‘You missed me.’

‘You needn’t hark on about it.’

‘I missed you too. The fourteenth century has been awfully long without this.’ He gestured to their hands, still joined, and Crowley felt an uncomfortable heat across his cheeks. Oh _Satan_ , he was _blushing_ . He became suddenly quite aware of the angel’s hand on his leg, the weight, the _heat_ , and he swung it back beneath the table. Though of course physics determined that such a move propelled him forwards, closer to his companion than before, their faces uncomfortably comfortably close. Aziraphale did not move.

‘I’ll take charge then.’ The demon did not wait for a response before leaning forward, closer, and kissing him softly. He tasted of wine, although that was hardly surprising, but his lips were as soft as he’d imagined (and oh, he now realised he had been imagining) they’d be. 

Aziraphale pulled away first, his face now as red as his wine-stained lips. He gestured to the tavern, busier than ever, with a small shrug. ‘Perhaps it’s now time to leave, my dear.’

Yes, Crowley realised, as they staggered into the street, their hands still joined, perhaps the fifteenth century would be better after all.


End file.
